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Marisa Parker
a book bubble about
Goodbye to Italia
Biographies & Memoirs
Author Insight
The odd and the unusual
As we look back over this past year and our ‘different’ way of life, the odd and the unusual come to mind. At least, we could term them that before everything changed and our ‘normal’ did a somersault and landed on its head. Thankfully—at least in first world countries—governments are fighting to look after us and our way of life. But, even in those countries that are not economically strong, if you live away from people and can survive, that seems to keep the global virus at bay. During WW2 though, there was no hiding. Life for a nine-year-old Italian girl was not normal, and everything odd and unusual, was just to be got on with as part of a new day. My mum is what, can be termed, as a ‘battler’. She battled on regardless and getting typhoid fever which killed numerous young and old in Northern Italy in 1943, was just another struggle to overcome. It doesn’t help though when you are left with a tangible reminder that makes people look at you as if you are odd and unusual especially when going back to school.
Book Excerpt
Goodbye to Italia
Waking up in my own bed is the very best thing. The silence and familiar smells gently nudge me awake. I can’t have slept for very long because it is still light. I get up a bit too quickly though and my head spins. So I rest on an elbow and close my eyes to regain my balance. When I open them, I feel fine but I know now to take my time. My slippers are on the floor by the bed where Mamma must have left them. I put them on, along with my dressing gown, and leaving the bedroom, I go to the bathroom.
As I wash my hands, I look in the small, cracked mirror that is wedged next to the tap on the basin. Two big dark eyes with purplish shadows underneath dominate the image. Sharp cheekbones frame my nose as my nostrils flare. I take a deep breath and hold onto the basin as I feel my legs start to shake. I don’t remember the last time I looked in a mirror. I don’t even recall seeing any in the hospital. As these thoughts are going through my mind, I realise that I still have my woollen hat on. I raise my right hand slowly and grab the hat from the side of my head. I pull it down closing my eyes and wait for my hair to fall onto the front of my face. It takes a couple of seconds to realise that nothing is happening. As I open my eyes, the same gaunt face stares back at me but it is encircled by an inch of spiky hair that stands out like a black halo. I emit a half shriek, followed by a moan. This time my legs buckle under me as I slide to the floor.
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